Having just woken up to an alarm set on my phone, I stretched and took a deep breath in.

Ahhh.

The smell of—um, cornbread and old people.

Not a conventional breakfast (the cornbread), but it would have to do for 4:30 in the morning.

I got out of bed and began putting on layer after layer, sock after sock, hat after hat, until I was a human sauna.

I felt my way in the darkness toward the kitchen, where, sure enough, that cornbread was waiting on the counter.

I silently choked down the not-thoroughly-cooked bread and a cup of coffee. I never drink coffee, but I knew I’d need it today.

Putting on my heavy leather coat and lacing up my boots, I made sure I was wearing the required amount of safety orange.

That’s right, folks. We’s about to shoot us some game.

The rest of the abnormally large hunting party followed suit, the only sound heard being heavy breathing under bright orange scarves. We loaded up the van with our guns and headed out.

Sitting in that hot sweaty van, we all strained our eyes to see the first yellow beams of sunlight shoot straight up into the air, turning everything around us a perfect blue. The first sound of the morning was the van door sliding open.

We jumped out, careful to keep the guns pointed toward the sharp blue sky.

Crunch, crunch

, said the fresh foot of snow as we marched toward the first grove.

The group separated and our part was left with five hunters. We began to walk the field, and, it being dark outside still, could see nothing.

“There! Over there,” I excitedly whispered to my boyfriend, who carried the gun next to me. I had seen three does prancing swiftly and silently about a quarter mile out.

By the time he lifted the scope up to his eye, however, they had vanished.

Another field, another field . . . and another field.

Nothing.

We got in the van and headed back to the house and ate second breakfast—it was corn bread again, this time with a side of cauliflower. We weren’t discouraged about the hunt because we had an entire weekend; we knew this was only the first outing and that in an hour, there’d be another chance.

Back out, we leaned up behind some hay bales, staring intently at the grove that was a quarter mile away. Now that it was later in the day and more ambient noise was present, we began to laugh and joke within the group to pass the time.

And time passed all too quickly before I saw him. A big, beautiful 10-point buck.

He darted out of the grove and seemed to run straight toward me.

Smiles were wiped off faces and guns went up as everyone had his eye on the prize.

I screamed, “Shoot him! Shoot him,” all the while never taking my eyes off him.

The buck was indeed running straight toward me; he didn’t see me until he wasn’t more than ten yards away. He quickly bounded to the side and behind more hay bales with the sound of lead firing all around.

Needless to say, a dumbfoundedness swept the group. No one said a word. That would have been the prize buck.

Though I love hunting, it was secretly fun for me to see him get away, too.

In the outings to follow, the going got quicker.

Bang! One’s down.

Bang! Old man got a doe.

The bangs didn’t stop until the van reeked of dead game and I could fully stomach seeing those deer with their bones broken and innards rushing out onto the snow that froze their blood instantly.

There’s nothing like it.

Being out in a fresh-fallen snow before dawn. Seeing rabbit tracks in the mounds of snow. The silent, peaceful foxes and naively chirping sparrows. The audible sound of your thumping heart and the deafening silence unwarningly shattered by the crack of a shotgun.

There’s nothing like hunting.